


The Nightmare of my Choice

by damnslippyplanet



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, One Shot, Platonic-ish Murder Husbands, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnslippyplanet/pseuds/damnslippyplanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal tries so valiantly to protect Will from his nightmares that Will doesn't have the heart to tell him it's unnecessary. Just a silly little fluff thing written for a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightmare of my Choice

**Author's Note:**

> “... it was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice." ~Joseph Conrad, _Heart of Darkness_

Will wakes up unsure where he is, or why he can’t move his arms. Something's holding him down, and an instinct to _get away run away don't let them take you back GO NOW_ kicks in before he's really quite conscious. He panics, thrashing and bucking to get away from whatever has him in its implacable grip, and it takes a few moments before he comes to enough to recognize the voice in his ear cutting through the panic.

“Will. Wake up. You’re safe. You’re home. I’ll let you go as soon as you won’t hurt yourself. Or me.” Hannibal’s voice is thick with sleep and concern, and his grip around Will’s arms and chest from behind is tight but careful. He’s trying to help, not hurt.

Will stops thrashing, he’s come around enough to figure out that he’s not in immediate danger even if he can’t quite remember where this safe place is. He lies still, panting a little from the unexpected exertion of his futile escape attempt, heart racing. Things start to come into focus. The room, their room, the latest in a series of hideouts. Their bed, the little desk where Hannibal writes, the window... He's home. He's what passes for safe these days. His heart rate starts to settle.

Hannibal’s arms around him let go, cautiously, hovering as if they might need to clamp down again if Will lashes out and hits him in his semi-conscious state. Which, Will remembers suddenly and ruefully as he wakes up further, he’s done. More than once.

If asked he’d have pegged Hannibal as something closer to a sadist than a masochist, but he keeps sleeping in Will’s bed to be there when the nightmares hit, despite more than one split lip when he hasn’t pinned Will down in time, so perhaps Will’s got him pegged wrong. Or perhaps whatever Hannibal gets from these nights, somehow more intimate than if they were actually lovers, he gets in some other way. Perhaps he’s here to feed off Will’s distress. Maybe he watches Will thrash and moan for a long time before he wakes and comforts him.

This time Will doesn’t lash out. He's awake enough now to be safe for them both. He collapses, wearily, against Hannibal’s chest and into his arms again, but less constricted this time.

“‘s okay. I’m back now. Sorry I woke you,” he mumbles, blinking sleepily at the clock. Three a.m. Ugh. God, he’s tired. He’d kill for a night of straight-through sleep without drugs. This isn’t going to be that night, apparently.

“It’s okay. That’s why I’m here. What was it this time?”

Will’s actually not sure. Sometimes he knows exactly what he dreamed - he wakes still feeling the feathered stag’s hot breath on his skin right before it takes a bite out of him, or feeling Abigail’s blood hot on his hands, but this time he’s not sure. He doesn’t have the terrified feeling of one of those dreams. It was the waking up that was scarier than anything - that panic of being unable to move. The dream itself hadn’t been all that bad, had it?

He quests around in his mind for the root of his nightmare and splutters a little choked sound when he remembers. “Oh, my god.”

"It's okay now. Shhhh." Hannibal's a warm and comforting presence curled up against his back, a hand stroking and smoothing his disheveled hair into order, mouth so close to the nape of Will's neck that it sounds like his voice is coming from Will's own brain. Close enough to kiss him. Or rip his throat out. Whichever might take Hannibal's fancy first.

But Hannibal never quite does either of these things at night. Dangerous he might be during the day, quietly and hopelessly in love he might be (and what they're going to do about that, God only knows), but in their bed at night Hannibal is just this. Comforting and soothing and respectful of boundaries and there to protect him.

Which is why Will can't think of any way to tell him that just this once, the nightmare Hannibal's saved him from wasn't blood or hooves, horns or claws or death. Just this once, Will was having what he's pretty sure is a normal-person nightmare. The details are already fading but he's almost sure it involved high school, a forgotten locker combination, and some sort of test for which he hadn't studied. Algebra, maybe. A terrible nightmare about...algebra.

He presses his face into his pillow to smother a burst of laughter. It's just so ridiculous. Hannibal the gallant protector of his nights, watching over his sleep, his white knight protecting him from a high school anxiety dream.

His shoulders shake with suppressed mirth and Hannibal folds him in tighter, murmuring something that Will's quite sure isn't English. Will bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood, to stop the laughter. Hannibal is trying so hard.

He just can't bear to disillusion Hannibal. The man takes affronts to his dignity so seriously. And there will be other nights with real nightmares, when he'll need exactly this, and Will doesn't want to go back to waking alone when those nights come. 

He takes a deep ragged breath, very glad he's facing away so Hannibal can't see the hilarity in his eyes, and he does his best to compose a nightmare worthy of the caretaking Hannibal is lavishing on him. He'll pick and choose from his very worst and spin Hannibal a tale worth protecting him from. It's the least he can do to repay this unasked-for but now indispensable devotion.

"I'm okay now." He's pretty sure the faint unsteadiness still in his voice will pass for fear. He lets himself sink back against Hannibal's warm embrace and begins. "That was a bad one. Thank you for waking me up. It was the stag again, the one with the feathers..."

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang with me at [Tumblr](http://damnslippyplanet.tumblr.com) if so inclined.


End file.
